


Their Past

by LuckyPanda13



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, No Sex, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2014614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyPanda13/pseuds/LuckyPanda13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames and Arthur are getting married and Ariadne wants to know the story of how they got together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their Past

“What happened to make you fall for him?” Ariadne asked with a grin.

“Inception.” Arthur replied immediately. “I mean, the signs were all there before that, but it was the Fischer job that sealed the deal. For me anyway.”

“Well, isn’t that romantic.” Eames rolled his eyes. “I knew long before that, darling.”

“You never said a word, though, you big coward.” Arthur teased. “You made me do all the work.”

“When  _did_  you fall for him, Eames?” Ariadne persisted.

“Well, the Fischer job  _did_  help ease the way.” Eames reluctantly agreed. “It was Arthur’s lovely persistence afterwards that got us together.”

“So, what happened before then?” The poor girl was a romantic and she was more than a little thrilled when Arthur and Eames showed up, proclaiming their upcoming wedding. Marriage. She got the notion that Arthur wanted a wedding and Eames didn’t, but didn’t say anything. She took them out for lunch and demanded to know their story in its entirety. Come to think of it, Eames and Arthur hadn’t discussed the evolution of their relationship ever.

Time to let the cat out of the bag.

* * *

_“She’ll need a totem.” Dom immediately stood up and disappeared._

_“What?” Ariadne was furious._

_“A totem. It’s a small, personal–” Arthur started gently, trying to keep her calm._

_“That’s some subconscious you’ve got, Cobb. She’s a real charmer!” She snapped, understandably furious._

_“Oh. I see you’ve met Mrs. Cobb.” Arthur nodded sagely._

_“She’s his wife?” Ariadne’s anger fizzled out as pure confusion hit her._

_“Yeah. So. A totem.” Arthur knew she’d have to find out eventually, but the totem was the more important priority. “You’ll need a small object, potentially heavy, something you can have on you all the time that no one else knows–”_

_“Like a coin?”_

_“No. It needs to be more unique than that.” He reached into his pocket to show off the red die. “Like, this is a loaded die.” She reached for it and he pulled it back, gently, but quickly. "No, I can’t let you touch it; that would defeat the purpose. You see, only **I**  know the balance and the weight of this  **particular**  loaded die.” That wasn’t precisely true, but the only other person who knew had no idea that it was his totem._

* * *

“You need to relax, darling.” Eames teased, rubbing Arthur’s shoulders gently. They had just finished a job and Eames decided to celebrate by “teaching the stick-in-the-mud how to enjoy himself for once in his life”. Arthur was then brought to a casino and Eames was practically throwing drinks his way.

“It’s hard to relax when I’m constantly keeping an eye on my wallet in case  _someone_  decides to pickpocket me.” Arthur snapped. He didn’t move from Eames’ touch, though he managed to convince himself that he was just being stubborn and trying to get the older man to move first, and not that he was melting into the touch.

“Don’t worry.” Eames chuckled. “I’ll return everything I pickpocket from you tonight. Like your watch.” Arthur narrowed his eyes as the Brit handed the watch back, grinning shamelessly. “Anyway, let’s get you gambling, shall we?”

“Eames, I–” Arthur was unceremoniously dragged along to a craps table. Never mind that he had never gambled before, he didn’t see the appeal in taking on overwhelming odds for fun.

“Here, I’ll show you, darling.” Eames coached the American through the process. Arthur didn’t miss how Eames switched out the dice for identical loaded ones from his pocket. He rolled his eyes and watched as Eames happily “tried out” the table, sipping his drink slowly. He knew better than to get drunk around the Brit. “Arthur! You try!” Eames crowed.

“I don’t want to.” Arthur sighed.

“It’s easy, love. Give it a try.” Eames ignored the protesting and handed Arthur the dice. Never mind that Arthur was holding the loaded dice. Eames talked Arthur through the process, even though the Point Man was observant enough to figure it out on his own. The Brit managed to trap Arthur at the table, helping the younger man clean out everyone else there.

“Last time.” Arthur informed the Forger.

“Of course, pet.” Eames chuckled, standing distractingly close to Arthur’s back. Arthur rolled the dice one last time and when he straightened, soft lips connected with the back of his neck, causing goosebumps to flare along his arms and back. He downed the rest of his drink (was it the third or fourth?) and hoped that he wasn’t blushing. Eames took one last roll in order to claim his loaded dice back.

“Well, that  _was_  a bit fun, Eames.” Arthur admitted as they walked away from the table.

“Here.” Eames handed Arthur one of the loaded die. “Have a souvenir from your first time gambling.”

“Why only one?” Arthur asked.

“Because I don’t want to part with both.” Eames shrugged. “They were hard to come by and playing legitimately is no fun, darling.” Arthur pocketed the die, knowing that the key in his pocket had just been replaced, though he would never, on pain of death, tell anyone that. Arthur refused to tell himself why he abruptly decided to switch totems and he decided to firmly ignore the pestering in his head that wanted him to think about the decision.

* * *

_“When she comes back, get her building mazes.” Dom ordered, still not focusing on Arthur. Arthur was used to it, though. The man’s mind travelled miles a second, not dissimilar to Arthur himself, though Dom’s mind was often plagued by Mal. Her death hit Arthur as well, though it didn’t haunt him in the same way. He had moved on and it worried him that Dom didn’t seem to be able to._

_“Where will you be?” Arthur asked, knowing better than to get into Dom’s business._

_“I’ve got to talk to Eames.” Arthur swore that his heart stopped. He should have seen it coming. He had thought about it just the night before, but he reminded himself that Ariadne had to accept first. He promptly ignored the notion that Eames would be needed for the sake of his own sanity._

_“Eames? But he’s in Mombasa. Cobol’s backyard.” Arthur tried to think of reasons for Dom to **not** fetch Eames._

_“Necessary risk.” Dom shrugged._

_“There are plenty of other thieves.” Arthur said, hiding his desperation._

_“We don’t just need a thief. We need a Forger.” Dom said the words Arthur had known. Despite the attempts of keeping the Brit as far away as possible, Arthur had known since Dom considered Saito’s proposition that they would need a Forger. And Eames was the best. There was also a part of him, a microscopically tiny part (and **no**  Arthur was  **not** lying), that missed the older man. Their wits complemented each other well. And that was the  **only** reason Arthur  **might** be missing the Forger. Yes. Arthur missed Eames’ entertainment. And that was all._

_Arthur hadn’t gotten any better at lying to himself._

* * *

The first time the pair had ever worked together, they started off on a rather prickly foot. Dom insisted that Arthur was the best Point Man in the business, and it hadn’t taken long for Eames to see why. The man was absurdly good at collecting information, to the point of finding even Eames’ background information, which the Brit was positive had been buried for years. In retrospect, it was probably the reason Eames started bothering the American incessantly.  _Nobody_ , not even Dom, knew about Samantha, and Eames had deliberately kept it that way. It was safer.

Of course, until Arthur had gone prying into his past and the next thing Eames knew, he was getting a phone call from his sister, asking him who his new boyfriend was. Eames didn’t think the man would actually  _talk_ to her, and he had gotten understandably upset when he figured it out. Arthur, though, had only done what he had been expected to do, so Eames couldn’t even properly blow up at the younger man.

Plus, Sami kept bothering him about the cute American who called. Never mind that the man was actually attractive as all hell and  _exactly_  Eames’ type: dark hair, pale skin, dark eyes, brilliant as all hell, with the most adorable accent that was almost unsettling. Eames had tried to learn as much as he could about the Point Man in retaliation, but all he could dredge up was that Arthur had been born in Chicago.

Damn that man and how brilliant he was at his job.

* * *

_“Inception.” Dom said, piquing Eames’ interest immediately, although the Forger knew better than to let it show. He let it sink in a moment. “Now, before you bother telling me it’s impossible–”_

_“No,” Eames said slowly, “It’s perfectly possible, it’s just bloody difficult.”_

_“Interesting.” Dom smiled. “Because Arthur keeps telling me it can’t be done.” And Eames recalled exactly **why**  he had been so apprehensive when Dom showed up out of the blue when Cobol Engineering was after him with a bloodthirsty rage. Arthur was the bane of Eames’ existence and happened to be Dom’s right hand man. The man complemented him so perfectly, it was terrifying and Eames buried that terror deep within himself with denial so fierce, it rivaled the one in Egypt. The terror always came back every time Dom showed up with a job. The pair had never worked together separate from him. Eames knew he avoided Arthur like it was his job, simply because the man was too bloody beautiful.  **No**.  **Not**  beautiful._

_“Hmm. Arthur.” Eames fought back the blush violently by smiling. “You still working with that stick-in-the-mud?” Eames had decided to call the American that their first job and it had stuck ever since, driving Arthur crazy. Never mind that Eames had seen Arthur with his hair down, metaphorically speaking._

_“He’s good at what he does, right?” Dom was still trying to convince Eames, though the Brit knew his mind had already been made up since Arthur’s name came up. As much terror that the younger man inspired in him, Eames knew that he could never say no to Arthur, especially if the deal was sweetened with a bloody difficult challenge. He was a moth and Arthur was the flame. He would forever lose to the beauty of it. Bloody hell, **not beautiful**! Eames fought the notion to slam his head on the table. He decided to turn off his brain, knowing it was safer._

_“Oh, he’s the best.” It wasn’t an exaggeration. “He has no imagination.” That was a lie._

_And Eames knew it all too well._

* * *

“You don’t have a creative bone in your body, darling.” Eames chuckled, keeping an eye on how many drinks the Point Man decided to down. He was at five, and Eames knew that if he allowed the man to get drunk, Arthur would murder him in the morning. But, the man was rather predictable in that manner. Eames was just glad that Arthur wasn’t angry about Eames’ little venture into his office. Eames himself had finally gotten over Arthur’s invasion of his past. Dom and Mal were just happy that they didn’t screw the job up with their snippiness.

Eames decided to celebrate by attempting to befriend the Point Man with alcohol.

“Oh, really?” Arthur shot him a devil-may-care smirk that made Eames abruptly regret allowing the American to drink as much as he had. Eames couldn’t remember the last time a smirk,  _a smirk_ , made his pants tighten uncomfortably. He was reasonably certain it had  _never_  happened before.

“Of course, Arthur.” Eames had been playing with fire his entire life. The challenging flicker in Arthur’s eyes did nothing to deter the Brit. This was their form of flirting. Challenging each other on every level possible and then being too stubborn to back down when things got out of hand, as they inevitably did.

“I’m plenty creative.” Arthur snorted. “You just never see it.”

“Prove it.” Eames challenged, knowing that Arthur would go for it in a way he wouldn’t allow himself to when they were on a job.

“Fine.” Arthur leaned across the table, his eyes smoldering in a way Eames had never seen before and Eames regretted challenging the young man. “If I were to drag you outside and shove you against the wall, forcing my tongue down your throat, would you take it?” Eames rubbed the poker chip in his pocket and was more than a little shocked when it didn’t multiply. “If I slipped under the table and started sucking you off, would you beg for more?” Okay, so Eames’ heart rate had doubled and he was breathing a lot faster than he had been moments before. That meant absolutely nothing.

“A-arthur?” And he most definitely had  _not_  stuttered. Nope. Not at all.

“I bet you would. You’re thinking about it right now, aren’t you?” Arthur smirked and  _bloody hell_  if it wasn’t the sexiest thing Eames had ever seen in his life. “You would  _love_  it if I gave you a blow job right here, right now. You’d probably bury your hands in my hair, silently begging me to suck harder, to take more of you down my throat. And I would. I’d use my tongue in ways you’ve never dreamed of, bringing you to orgasm harder than you’ve ever experienced. And you’d beg me to do it again and again.”

No, Eames most definitely was  _not_  imagining it. Nope. And he most definitely did  _not_  agree that Arthur was one hundred percent correct in everything he had just said. Arthur chuckled deeply, the flush on his cheeks likely from the alcohol more than anything else.

“You just want to bend me over this table and fuck me in front of the entire room, don’t you?” Eames couldn’t hide the groan that forced itself from his chest as Arthur swore. He had never heard the American swear before. Not even when he was in pain. “You can’t imagine how tight I am. You have no idea how hot it would be, to be forcing yourself deeper and deeper into me as I moan like the wanton whore I am. It would be so hard for you not to cum instantly when you hear me begging in front of everyone, getting more and more turned on by being watched.”

No, Eames was  _not_  about to cream his pants.

“And you’d get jealous, wouldn’t you?” Arthur hadn’t even paused once. Embarrassment hadn’t hit him. He must have been more tipsy than Eames thought. “You’d fuck me harder and harder, trying to keep my attention from the people watching us while simultaneously warning all the other men here that  _I am yours_.”

Eames had never been more grateful for Dom’s bad timing than that moment.

“Hey, guys!” He was barely drunk, but he was just far enough gone to miss how intently Arthur stared at Eames and how flushed Eames was. Eames had been  _so_  close to finishing, it was more than a little disturbing. He had never been talked to orgasm before and he wasn’t sure if Arthur knew how close he had gotten. Eames snuck a look at the slightly drunk Point Man and was surprised to see how out of breath he was. Perhaps Eames wasn’t the only one affected by Arthur’s creativity. Though Arthur’s hangover the next day indicated that he either forgot what had occurred, or had forcefully shoved it from his memory banks. Eames didn’t mind. He had masturbation fodder for years after that night.

And he didn’t feel one ounce of guilt about it.

* * *

_“Okay, well, try this, um” Eames hummed for a moment, “ **My father accepts that I want to create for myself, not follow in his footsteps**.” He suggested, twisting his chair around. Arthur knew that the man couldn’t sit still unless a role called for it. He was also obsessively rubbing the poker chip between his fingers. Arthur knew, from experience, that the chip multiplied in dreams when Eames rubbed it. It had gotten them into strange situations once or twice._

_“That might work.” Dom smiled, drinking his tea._

_“Might?” Arthur blinked. “We’re going to need to do a little better than ‘might’.”_

_“Thank you for your contribution, Arthur.” Eames sat up, happily teasing the Point Man. It was his favorite hobby as far as Arthur could tell._

_“Forgive me for wanting a little specificity, Eames.” Arthur said blandly. Eames’ eyebrows shot up as his annoyingly sexy smirk graced his lips. “Specificity?” Arthur said it slower, thinking that maybe **that**  would get it through Eames’ childish mind._

* * *

“Please be more specific, darling.” Eames grinned.

“I would like to go get sushi from Sakura, a Japanese restaurant one block west of here, for dinner before retiring to my hotel room, on the fifth floor, five blocks south of there so that I might shower and rest before our job tomorrow.” Arthur replied, barely holding back a yawn. He had shifted from merely tired to exhausted as the Forger grilled him for more details. It hadn’t taken long for Arthur to realize it was payback for complaining about the lack of detail Eames provided, or didn’t provide, rather. Arthur refused to let the Brit win the battle of stubbornness simply because he didn’t think the man’s ego could handle that much swelling. That was the story Arthur was sticking with, and he refused to listen to the whispers his mind was trying to force into the forefront of his mind.

“Would you like some company?” Eames offered. Arthur shook his head and swayed on his feet. Eames put a hand on his elbow, helping to steady him. “Love, you’re dead on your feet. I’m taking you back to your hotel.”

“Need to eat.” Arthur mumbled, face flushing as his stomach growled loudly.

“When did you eat last?” Eames asked, quirking an eyebrow up. Arthur shrugged and Eames looked pissed, but Arthur had to keep blinking to keep Eames in focus. “You don’t remember?”

“I think I ate dinner last night.” Arthur shrugged again.

“Bloody hell, no wonder you’re so out of it.” Eames sighed. “Is this sushi place close?”

“One block west.” Arthur waved vaguely, rubbing his eyes. “Was I not specific enough?”

“I’m feeding you and putting you to bed.” Eames said, helping the American down the street. “And you’re going to eat three meals a day if I have to force them down your throat.”

“I had three meals yesterday.” Arthur protested as he focused on keeping himself upright down the street. Eames was going to become impossible if he started babying Arthur and Arthur might just knock the Brit out if he tried.

“What were they?” Arthur couldn’t recall any meal he had eaten during preparation for their latest job. He eventually shrugged. Eames growled wordlessly.

“If you weren’t dead on your feet right now, darling, I would punch your gorgeous face.”

Arthur decided that he was so tired that he had become delirious.

* * *

_“When we take him a level deeper his own projection of Browning should, **should** , feed that right back to him.” Eames explained._

_“So he gives himself the idea?” It wasn’t really a question, but Eames decided to take it that way._

_“Precisely.” Yeah, he was a bit smug. “That’s the only way to make it stick. It has to seem self-generated.”_

_“Eames, I am impressed.” Arthur graced the Brit with a tiny upward tilt of his lips. Eames had never been given a smile by a sober Arthur, so he wasn’t really sure what to do at that moment. He went with his default response._

_“Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur. Thank you.” Eames smirked. He caught Arthur rolling his eyes in response._

* * *

“I’m impressed, Arthur.” Eames had admitted a week prior. The Point Man had designed a very clever maze for their job, ensuring that there were plenty of paradoxes for them to manipulate the projections around. Arthur had even included a back door for their purposes. Eames loved back doors.

“Thank you, Mr. Eames, for your condescending attitude.” Arthur had bit out, crossing his arms with a frown. It was only then that Eames had realized that his tone hadn’t been as friendly as he had hoped. They had gotten off on the wrong foot and then Eames had broken into Arthur’s office (Eames vowed to figure out how in bloody hell Arthur had figured it out) and they hadn’t been able to work very well together since. Dom was getting fed up with them and he finally snapped, saying that if their issues made the job fail, Dom was going to hunt them down himself.

Mal’s resounding glare spoke volumes louder than Dom’s lecture.

“Arthur, would you like to go out for a drink?” Eames suggested as soon as they had woken from the job. They had managed to successfully complete the job without fighting angrily and Eames vowed to get on the Point Man’s good side. The man was far too brilliant and attractive for Eames to just accept their bitter rivalry. Besides, it was just a big misunderstanding anyway. Eames was sure that, given the chance, they would get along quite well.

Eames just couldn’t keep his snarky comments to himself.

“Why?” Arthur looked at him suspiciously.

“Because we just successfully stole from someone’s mind.” Eames pointed out. Here came the difficult bit: admitting he was wrong. “And I’ve been a prat. Let me buy you a drink.”

“Oh.” Arthur blinked. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, darling.” Eames said with a grin, earning a small glower for the pet name. “Seriously, though, do  _not_  mention it. Mal, Dom, we’re going out to celebrate. Would you like to join?”

“Sure!” Dom grinned. Mal gave Eames a look.

“Oh, right. Baby.” Eames flinched from her gaze. “We’ll return your husband promptly and he won’t be drunk. Hopefully.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Mal smiled. “I’ll be at the hotel. And Arthur,” The Point Man turned to acknowledge the pregnant woman, “Try to have some fun tonight. You’ve earned it.”

The small smile Arthur sent her way made Eames’ stomach clench with jealousy.

* * *

_“A kick.” Dom sighed. Arthur leaned back in his chair and started scribbling in his notebook. Eames always wanted to pickpocket the damnable thing to read it, but Arthur paid far more attention to the stupid thing than he did his wallet._

_“What’s a kick?” Ariadne asked._

_“This, Ariadne, is a kick.” Eames said, noting with pride how Arthur was busy writing whatever it was he wrote in his little black book to better clarify his point. He nudged Arthur’s chair, knocking the careful balance the Point Man had constructed. Arthur’s legs kicked up instinctively as his body panicked briefly. When he landed safely, Arthur turned a glower on the Forger, who merely grinned in response._

* * *

Eames refused to admit that he was feeling even the slightest bit guilty for going through Arthur’s things. The Point Man had never revealed anything personal about himself. When he was sober anyway. Eames had picked up all kinds of things from Arthur when he was tipsy. The American  _never_  got drunk on purpose. He always stopped himself before he went too far. Eames had managed to see the man drunk on several rare occasions, but based on what he had seen, Eames was relatively certain that drunk Arthur was too much adorableness for the universe to handle in large doses.

So, the fact that Eames was breaking into Arthur’s office at their headquarters was totally understandable, considering Eames’ insatiable curiosity.

Eames went through every individual paper on the desk and promptly decided that Arthur was disturbingly good at finding information. He started going through the desk, surprised by the lack of tidiness inside the drawers. Arthur was neat and clean in everything he did. Except for filling drawers apparently. Eames was patient, though, and went through every little thing in excruciating detail, making sure to leave everything _exactly_  how he found it.

And then he found  _the_  little black book. It might as well have capital letters: The Little Black Book. Eames had never seen Arthur without it (or vice versa) and had also never seen  _inside_  the damnable thing. It was arguably the most frustrating thing Eames found about Arthur.

So, it was a bit surprising when Eames felt reluctant to open it.

It took Eames longer to deliberate about the pros and cons of opening the damn thing than it took to find it. When Eames finally cracked open the cover to the first page, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. After the first page, Eames couldn’t imagine putting the thing down. He meticulously looked through every single page, memorizing every line on every sheet. When he finally finished, he realized that it was a lot later in the morning than he planned on staying. Panicking slightly, Eames put everything back as he found it and locked Arthur’s office back up before retreating to his hotel. As he stood in his shower, washing away the tiny amount of guilt he still felt, his mind reeled with the information he had discerned about the American. It was probably the most important thing Eames had ever learned about anyone, though he couldn’t admit to himself why that was.

Arthur was an artist.

* * *

_Eames definitely was **not** taking sadistic glee in watching Yusuf test his compounds over and over on Arthur, checking and double checking the effectiveness of the kicks. Every single time, Eames made sure to be the one to offer Arthur a hand up. He didn’t feel guilty for laughing at the younger man; it was for the light blush that barely stained Arthur’s cheeks and the tiny quirk of the lips that made something melt inside Eames._

* * *

Arthur hated it when he woke from the dream-sharing state to see Eames had been the one to initiate the kick that knocked him free. It wasn’t that he hated the idea of being kicked, or even it being Eames, it was more about the idea of showing his fragile side to the Forger.

“Wakey, wakey, darling.” Arthur couldn’t keep the shiver from Eames’ observant gaze and the Forger looked like he had just seen a kitten. Arthur had just woken to see the Brit chuckling over his head as he offered a hand up. Arthur sighed and accepted the hand, hoping he kept the blush from appearing on his face as he slipped the mask of professionalism back over his face. Eames always looked slightly disappointed when Arthur put his mask back on. Arthur knew, though, that the small glimpse Eames got of him was too much. They couldn’t afford to be that close. Never mind that Arthur  _wanted_  to be closer than that. The nature of the business they both adored was too dangerous to allow individuals to develop close bonds. Arthur told himself he was  _not_  disappointed by that fact.

Arthur hated how badly he lied to himself.

* * *

_“You mustn’t be afraid to dream a bit bigger, darling.” Arthur noted with slight distaste the grenade launcher Eames brought over. However, after he saw the explosion on the neighboring roof, he mentally noted to himself to always remember one of those every time he went under. If only for the fun of watching things explode._

* * *

“I had no idea you liked guns, Arthur.” Eames looked more than a little surprised. They had worked together several times, and every time Arthur wasn’t required to go under to help. He would stay up top and monitor the PASIV device and left all the dirty work to Eames and Dom and Mal. The easy jobs didn’t require nearly as many people on the inside, not mentioning how the subconscious would notice intruders far more quickly when there were more of them.

So when Eames found himself in Arthur’s dream in a storeroom of guns, he was pleasantly surprised.

“Guns are something of a hobby of mine.” Arthur admitted, looking over the stock of guns before choosing one carefully. He took it completely apart, analyzing every inch, before slipping it back together and loading it with a full clip. Eames would be lying if he said it wasn’t arousing as hell.

* * *

_Arthur knew that when Eames strutted by as the blonde woman, he was teasing Arthur. Eames could never figure out how Arthur could always tell who he was at any given time. So, when the projections were staring and making Ariadne uncomfortable, Arthur decided to take the opportunity to tease the Forger back. Eames had been spying on them since he left Saito in the elevator._

_“What’s happening?” Ariadne asked, worried._

_“Cobb’s drawing Fischer’s attention to the strangeness of the dream, which is making his subconscious look for the dreamer. For me.” Arthur took his chance head on. “Quick, give me a kiss.” The girl obeyed instantly and Arthur felt almost bad to manipulating her like that, but given the way Eames glowered in their direction, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to feel that guilty about it._

_“They’re still looking at us.” Ariadne said._

_“Yeah, it’s worth a shot. We should probably get out of here.” Arthur admitted. From Ariadne’s expression, she realized what **exactly**  he had just done, though she probably had no idea what his motivations were._

* * *

Eames hated how Arthur could always tell who he was at any given time. He liked to sneak up on his teammates and freak them out every so often, but the first time he had strutted up to Arthur in Melissa’s body (he liked to name his forgeries; it helped him maintain the façade better) and started flirting, Arthur just turned an adorable smirk his way.

“Eames, if you keep this up, I might actually start to think you don’t hate me.” Eames was so surprised that he lost hold of the forgery and gaped at the American.

“How did you know it was me?” He was a little dumbfounded.

“How did the lift go?” Arthur returned smoothly. Eames held up the wallet.

“Easy. How did you  _know_?” The Brit couldn’t focus on anything else. Arthur merely shrugged in response and continued the job.

The second time went the exact same way even though Eames went with Jennifer instead of Melissa. After that he tried Lola, Bernadette, Steven, Kyle, William, Richard, Gabriella,  _and_  Jerome before he got frustrated. Arthur, on the other hand, was more amused than anything else at how Eames couldn’t fool him with  _any_  forgery he had. It had taken Eames several jobs and lots of practice runs to figure out that the Point Man could recognize him no matter how perfectly placed his forgery was.

“ _How do you know_?” Eames growled.

“I don’t know.” Arthur shrugged, obviously biting back a grin. “But there’s just something about… I don’t know. Your forgeries are perfect, Mr. Eames. Don’t worry about it.” It didn’t take a genius to see that Arthur was avoiding answering the question.

It  _did_  take several tequila shots to get the younger man to answer the bloody question.

“Your eyes.” Arthur finally admitted.

“I can change my eye color.” Eames pointed out.

“It’s not the  _color_!” Arthur waved the thought away. “And it’s not the emotion you put in your eyes. It’s  _beyond_  all that.” And Eames was completely lost. “There’s something behind the color and the emotion and it’s so completely  _you_. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

And then Arthur threw up on Eames’ shoes so the Brit had to cut his interrogation short.

* * *

_“Security’s going to run you down hard.” Eames warned softly._

_“And I will lead them on a merry chase.” Eames could see the smile Arthur tried to force his mask over and it made him grin more than the words did._

_“Just be back before the kick.” He added to his warning, fearful for the stuck-up American who somehow managed to capture his heart._

_“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.” Arthur ordered gently. Eames sighed to himself, hoping everything worked out. The stakes hadn’t been nearly as high the last time Eames had put himself in Arthur’s hands._

* * *

Arthur had been running for a good five minutes and his lungs were starting to burn. He managed to distract the guards, but his loop around the building as a diversion would only work so long before the projections found the room with Eames and Dom and Mal. He pushed himself faster, hoping to get a little more distance from the guards before doubling back and using the shortcut to get back to the room so he could protect them. None of them were really positive what would happen should they die in Arthur’s dream while they were still in Dom’s and no one wanted to find out.

Arthur made it back to the room without a hitch, but barely had three minutes of rest before projections started banging at the door. He barricaded it as much as he could, knowing that the three others had to almost be done with their job. He went to Dom and placed headphones over his ears. When Arthur heard gunshots from the hallway, he hit play on the music and counted out the next thirty seconds.

A gun appeared from a hole in the door and Arthur had enough time to jump in front of Eames before the gun barked off. Excruciating pain filled Arthur senses as he returned fire with one of the weapons he stockpiled the room with. His mental timer went off as the barricade started to fail. He turned swiftly and knocked the chair Eames was in over. He managed to get both Mal and Dom awake before Eames could get up off the floor. Their mark would wake as soon as the dream collapsed, but they still had time.

“Did you get it?” Arthur asked, relaxing now that he knew they were all safe.

“Are you all right, pet?” Eames asked, eyeing the wounds on Arthur’s chest.

“Fine.” Arthur waved it away. “Did you get it?”

“Yes.” Mal answered, standing gingerly. “We need to get out of here before the projections get in.”

Arthur gestured to the pile of guns behind him when Dom finally got off the floor.

“I’m sorry you got hurt.” Those were the last words Arthur heard in the dream and he wasn’t entirely sure if Eames’ words had been real or not.

* * *

_Arthur watched Dom walk through the airport, a slight smile on his lips. Finally, **finally** , the man would get to go home and see his children. He took a trolley to the baggage pick-up, moving next to Yusuf and keeping an eye out for his bags. Yusuf shot him a knowing grin before his eyes focused over Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur didn’t have to glance over his shoulder to know that Eames was watching him. Job after job together and yet their goodbyes still hurt._

_“Well, I’ll see you later, Arthur.” Yusuf smiled. Arthur offered him a hand._

_“Until then, Yusuf. It’s been a pleasure.” Yusuf shook his hand, his grin growing._

_“It seems you have an admirer.” He winked. “I wouldn’t keep him waiting. He isn’t the most patient of men.”_

_“No, he isn’t.” Arthur managed to keep the blush off his face, but not the fond smile._

_“Good luck, then.” Yusuf left him to finding his bags. Once Arthur had managed to capture his luggage, he turned around and almost ran into Eames. The man didn’t do subtle very well. Not when he wasn’t acting._

_“Arthur.” He pretended like he was scanning the baggage area._

_“Eames.” Arthur abruptly decided to shut his brain off. Frankly, the damn organ had been obnoxious about the Brit since they had first met and Arthur was getting tired of it. He had just helped with a successful **inception**. The adrenaline from the completion of the job had long since hit and passed, but Arthur had promised himself that he would stop ignoring the feelings he had for Eames if they succeeded. When he made the promise, he didn’t think they would actually succeed. “You’ve got all your luggage.” Arthur pointed out._

_“So I have.” Eames agreed. The man shot him a smile and Arthur grinned back. The Brit’s eyes widened slightly and Arthur realized he had never truly **smiled**  at the man. Not when he was sober anyway. They started walking to the exit. “Anyway, Cobb told me about how you kicked us without any gravity. That was very creative of you, darling.”_

_“Thank you.” Arthur replied. He laughed abruptly. “I never thought that you would **ever**  complement me on my imagination.” Eames chuckled as well._

_“I’ve seen it action.” He admitted. “There’s no way I can call you stick-in-the-mud after what I’ve seen.” Arthur abruptly recalled the drunken conversation he had with Eames so long before and fought the blush that accompanied it. He had deliberately been ignoring that memory._

_“Where are you headed?” Arthur asked as they stood on the curb, considering the line of taxis before them._

_“Well, I’ve got a hotel booked here, and I was thinking of trying to find a job while I was here.” Eames shrugged._

_“I’ve got an apartment here; you’re more than welcome to stay.” Arthur managed to get the words out without blushing or stuttering or letting his voice crack. Eames’ startled look was worth the effort._

_“I wouldn’t want to impose, darling.” Eames coughed._

_“Don’t worry about it.” Arthur shrugged. “I’m looking for jobs, too. I’ll hook us up.” Arthur could proudly say that he made the Forger flush._

_And, **no** , the drunken conversation did  **not**  count._

* * *

“That’s it?” Ariadne asked, incredulously.

“That’s it.” Arthur shrugged.

“She says it like she’s disappointed.” Eames grinned.

“Of course I’m disappointed!” Ariadne snapped. “When did you first admit your love for each other? When did you decide to date? What  _was_  your first date? When did you propose?  _How_  did you propose? When did you–”

“Bloody hell, she’s excitable.” Eames chuckled.

“Well, you wanted to know what made us fall for each other.” Arthur pointed out. “That was it. We fell for each other.”

“What about  _after_  the Fischer job?” Ariadne was still annoyed with them.

“I went and lived in Arthur’s apartment while we did some jobs. We had sex,  _finally_ , and we never really got tired of each other.” Eames summed up.

“That’s  _it_?!” Ariadne was going to kill them.

“What? You want  _all_  the details?” Arthur laughed.

“Yes!”

“Okay, well, first of all, Arthur’s got this spot behind his ear that when I bite it he makes the most  _adorable_ –”

“If you don’t want to be sexiled until the wedding night,  _darling_ ,” Arthur’s voice was cold as ice, “You will stop right now.”

“Whatever you say, love.” Eames shut up immediately. Ariadne watched the interaction with incessant giggling.

“First of all,” Arthur started, his voice back to its normal cadence, “Neither Eames nor I will be revealing private bedroom situations to anyone and Eames knows that if he doesn’t honor that, he won’t be  _having_  any more private bedroom situations. Secondly, your imagination will have to do, and don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing on the Internet, Miss Ariadne.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Arthur.” Ariadne had the decency to blush.

“Uh-huh.” Arthur quirked one eyebrow up. “So those ‘fanfiction’ sites you’ve been visiting and posting on are just a clever ruse?”

Ariadne wisely dropped the subject.

As soon as they said their goodbyes, she got a text from Eames asking if she wrote any about him and Arthur and if she had, could she send them his way.


End file.
